


Teddy

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, MWPP Era, Marauders' Era, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2472473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the full moon, Remus gets a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teddy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s too restless to sleep, which doesn’t make any sense at all, because he’s _exhausted_ and so dizzy that it doesn’t seem fair he should be conscious. The ceiling swims through the dark, creaks in the shutters of the windows casting long, illusive bars of light across the floor that swirl in Remus’ vision. Some moments, he forgets where he is, and he tries to reach to pull the curtains back around his four-poster. But the Infirmary beds aren’t like that, and Remus can’t get his arm more than a few centimeters off the mattress anyway. 

His lungs are breathing shallow. When he struggles for more, he only winds up coughing, and his throat’s already sore. The nightmare’s come and gone, but it’s still hard. He’ll still take a few days. He wants to roll onto his side, because his spine feels crooked and lying on it doesn’t help. But no matter how hard his brain tells his bones to _move_ , they _won’t_.

But then the door creaks. Remus wants to look—a late night casualty? Not unusual for Hogwarts. But by the time his head’s managed to swivel, the door’s already closing again. It clicks into place, disappearing back into the blackness, and Remus blinks hazily at where it was, wondering if another wolf’s slipped through the bottom, come to finish him off. 

The dark silhouette of something slinks through the faint beams of starlight, and Remus is seized with terror for one horrifying second. It could be a wolf. It’s big enough, and he can hear it breathing. But something about the scent tells him it’s okay: lingering, inhuman instinct. 

The creature comes to the side of his bed and hops up all in one motion, like a shadow over the wall. But it’s heavy. It lands on the mattress, and the bedsprings groans, and the creature’s paws barely miss Remus’ body. He tries to sigh when he sees its grinning face, but that hurts and he has to stifle a cough. The dog makes a whining noise and nudges his shoulder with its muzzle. 

“You’ll get in trouble,” Remus breathes, voice hoarse and cracking. But the dog only tilts its head innocently, settling its hindquarters down next to Remus’ hip. A dog will get in just as much trouble, but, Remus supposes, at least it won’t lose any points for Gryffindor. 

It shuffles awkwardly down to lie next to him, and Remus tries to shift back, but there’s so little room and he’s so _tired._ Padfoot makes a sympathetic noise and tries to help nudge him back, but it’s uncomfortable and unhelpful. Remus tries to lift his hand, tries to pull his arm out from under the blankets, because he wants to stroke Padfoot’s sleek fur. But Padfoot’s weight takes all the give out of the blankets, and Remus is even more trapped than before. 

He appreciates the gesture all the same, and he tries to tilt his head towards his friend. Padfoot drapes his long head over the pillow, muzzle so close that his wet nose puffs hot air through Remus’ sweat-slicked hair. It still makes Remus smile. Or as best he can. Padfoot is so very _warm_.

He doesn’t have to do this. He could be sleeping comfortably up in a big bed with all his limbs as long as they should be. Instead, he’s playing teddy bear to an invalid, crowded into a nearly mute, inarticulate form. 

And Remus _loves_ him for it. The swell of familiarity and heat and safety is more of a comfort than Remus’ tired face can express. When he closes his eyes, he feels less _ruined_ , and his headache is ebbing away. Padfoot’s scent is sending his brain all the wrong signals: he’s in a pack and he’s protected and it’s alright to sleep. 

He means to open his eyes again and say _I love you, Sirius_ properly, like he means to do every time and rarely manages, but he’s drifted off before he can.


End file.
